I Thought
by firstadream
Summary: He wasn't allowed to do this. He wasn't allowed to change his mind and not tell her. They'd made a promise. He had been waiting for her—he had been—and now he wasn't. How could he do that to her?


_I know everyone in the entire fandom universe has written one of these, but I had to go for it. Had to fix this wonderfully angsty, little mess Andrew Marlowe has written our characters into. So, here goes nothin'…_

—

She didn't understand what was happening.

He was gone. Maybe not in body, but in every other possible way, she'd lost him. She wished she knew why. If she had a reason, then maybe she could fix it. If she understood why he was leaving her behind, undoing every unspoken promise she thought they had, then maybe she could figure out how to change his mind.

He never smiled at her anymore. He barely even looked at her. His face was hard, impassive. His body tensed and recoiled every time she came too close, like he couldn't stand being near her. Like he couldn't stand _her. _He didn't bring her coffee anymore.

Something was happening, to him, to her, to the tenuous, fragile _us_ she'd been holding onto. She didn't _understand_.

Then there was the return of the bimbos. The blonde, skinny, more-than-a-little-skanky arm candy that used to be his pick of choice. _(Used to be)._ And he was changing with them. Turning into a man she hadn't seen in years. The playboy. The partier. Maybe it would've been easier to take if he seemed happy. But he was anything but carefree. He looked miserable—tired, pained, shadows under his eyes and a strange grief that played around the edges of his mouth, flashed bright behind every expression, every look he gave her.

This went on for weeks. He pulled farther and farther away. Her chest coiled with fear and hurt, the scar beside her heart burned. She missed him. If only she understood…

The wall was going back up. She hadn't realized how far it had fallen until she felt closing up again. She was growing cautious, fearful. It made her panic. Made her frantic. Then it made her angry, because there was no reason, no reason for the way he'd been treating her.

He wasn't allowed to do this. He wasn't allowed to change his mind and not tell her. They'd made a promise. He had been waiting for her—he _had _been—and now he wasn't. How could he do that to her?

After a month of him barely showing up at the precinct, of him barely being there at all, something inside her snapped. He wasn't playing fair and she wasn't going to let him get away with it.

She went to his apartment. It was late. She didn't care. She knocked on the door, a little more forcefully than usual. It took him a couple minutes to make it to the door. She was seconds away from another round of pounding when he swung it open.

"Beckett," he said. He didn't sound surprised exactly, just…dull. Everything about him seemed dulled. Gone was the vibrant, fun-loving man she'd fallen in love with and in his place stood a ghost, with bitterness in his eyes and scotch on his breath.

"You going to invite me in?" she asked.

His appearance had startled her, but the anger was still there. She didn't care if he was going through a bad patch. (She _didn't._) He couldn't _do _this to her without an explanation.

"Come in," he said and stepped aside to let her pass.

She walked towards his couch, but didn't sit down. He closed the door, but didn't follow her into the apartment. When she turned to face him, he was leaning back against the door, arms crossed over his chest.

"What's up?" he asked.

She swallowed, feeling the anger flame in her chest, the grief ache in her throat. "I guess you're done then," she said.

Something like surprise flickered across his impassive face, but it was gone quickly, buried along with every other good thing that used to shine in his eyes when he looked at her. "Done with what, Kate?"

The sound of her name on his lips made something flutter in her stomach, but it was all wrong, all wrong, because she used to like her name best when he said it—all soft edges and toe-curling promises. It used to sound like love. Now it sounded like pain. What had happened to him—to them?

"Done waiting," she told him. It sounded like an accusation and she realized, suddenly, that she meant it as one. God, she was pissed.

This time the surprise didn't fade quite as quickly. He straightened, took a step in her direction, then checked himself. "Waiting," he repeated.

"Don't pretend like you don't know what I'm talking about," she said. "You knew exactly what I was asking that day on the swings and you said _yes_ and I thought—I thought—"

"You thought what?"

She let out a long, trembling breath. She was going to cry. Because of complete and utter desperation and the unfairness of it all—she was going to start crying in the middle of his living room.

"I thought you would _wait _for me," she gasped out, hearing the sob in her voice and suddenly not caring. "I thought I had time. I thought I had time to get ready. But now you're…you're _gone _and I don't what I did wrong."

Her vision was blurred, but she could still see the way his expression faded from guarded to confused to stunned. "Kate," he breathed and it sounded familiar now, the way he said it, the way he formed the syllable on his tongue. Maybe he wasn't as lost as she thought. "Kate, I…"

"If you're done, please just tell me," she breathed. "Please, just tell me, because it's been killing me. It's been killing me to feel you pull away and not understand why, to miss you and not know how to get you back."

"But you…" He trailed off, shook his head slightly as if to clear it. "But you said you remembered. In the interrogation you said you remembered everything and I thought—"

She stilled at his words. Sucked in a startled breath and pressed her lips together. He'd heard her. He knew. Of course he did. It explained so much. "You heard me?"

He regarded her carefully, his eyes slightly narrowed. She realized that they'd both been operating without the full story, jumping to conclusions and making assumptions. "I heard you and I thought it meant—"

He stopped. Swallowed thickly.

Her lungs felt too shallow, her chest too tight. "You thought it meant I didn't love you," she finished.

He was very quiet and very still after her words. She watched his face instead of thinking about the fact that she'd just admitted something that maybe she hadn't been ready to admit.

His eyes were softer now. He was returning to himself. He was looking at her like he knew her. Like she was perfect. Like she'd just told him she loved him. (Had she?)

"I'm sorry," she blurted out. "I never meant for you to find out that way."

"But you…but you don't…" He trailed off. He was still dancing around it, still not forcing her into the admission. "It didn't mean what I thought it meant?"

She shook her head quickly. She wanted to give it to—the whole thing—so badly. _I love you. I love you, too. _But she couldn't not yet. "No. It didn't mean what you thought it meant."

He took another careful step towards her. He looked so hopeful and she wanted to give him something else, something more. She'd hurt him and she wished she could take it back.

She moved into him. She kept her eyes focused on the hollow of his throat instead of his eyes and pressed her hands to his chest. Her touch was light and trembling and hesitant, but then he wrapped one strong arm around her waist and pulled her into his body, the warm, solid plane of his chest.

Her breath left her body in a relieved rush. How she'd missed him.

"I'm sorry, Castle," she said, her face pressed into his neck. "I'm so sorry."

"It's okay," he murmured back. He pressed his hands to her back and she could feel the warmth of his palms through her shirt. "I'm sorry, too. I should've said something. I should've explained…"

"You were hurt. I understand."

"You must've been so confused."

"I was." She breathed in. Breathed out. He smelled so good. "I _missed_ you."

"I'm here now."

She nodded and, before she could think better of it, pressed a light kiss to the underside of his jaw. He went still, his body tense. She lifted her head to look at him and found his eyes dark and filled with want. She smiled slightly and leaned up on her tiptoes. Kissed his mouth quickly and carefully.

"Someday," she whispered, a promise—the best she could give. She was scared it wasn't enough.

But then he nodded and kissed her forehead and pulled her closer. "I'll wait."

—

_Hope you liked it! Please review if you have a minute to spare!_


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